


Winding Down

by deekelly (Muldersmoodring)



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Drug Use, F/M, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 14:06:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6960109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muldersmoodring/pseuds/deekelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie has a bad habit of overdosing, and Dee has a bad habit of getting stuck with him when he's winding down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winding Down

**Author's Note:**

> This is set a few hours after The Gang Tries Desperately to Win an Award ends. I don't really know how to describe it but it's a weird mix of fluff and angst and i really hope you enjoy.

Dee’s uncomfortable, perched on the very edge of her couch, sitting up stick straight, hands folded over crossed legs. She’s twiddling her thumbs and glancing furtively to her right every couple of seconds. On the other end of the couch is Charlie, completely limp, eyes glassy, staring up at the ceiling. He’s been in this state for a few minutes now, not moving, not sleeping. Deep, slow breaths. Twitching fingers. He’s sweating through his hoodie, as usual.   
Dee has a theory that it’s the silver. Charlie has a preference for clear glue or turpentine, but he won’t shake his head at a can of spray paint- especially not the silver stuff. It’s his favorite. And it just so happens that the stuff they kept in the basement was the metallic silver kind. Oh well.  
Dee wanders into her bathroom and brainlessly fetches the cotton balls she always keeps stocked in her medicine cabinet. She catches a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror and groans. Without the harsh lights of the bar, her makeup looks garish and caked on. Dee sighs and washes her face with bitingly cold water. She needs to wake up a little. The night has exhausted her, and she’s drifted through the past couple hours in a bit of a daze. After everybody had left, they’d all gotten drunk and converted the bar back into it’s natural, shithole state. By now it’s half past one o’clock in the morning, and Dee is ready for the night to be over.   
She changes into an old nightgown and returns to Charlie, still catatonic on the couch. She clumsily pulls her hair into a ponytail and gets to work on cleaning him up.  
Dee is pretty sure that if Charlie didn’t have the gang, he’d be dead by now, or at least close to it. Although she would never admit it, even to herself, she thinks the same thing for herself. For everybody in the gang, really.   
Rubbing alcohol gets the spray paint off his skin, but it’s a little tougher to remove from his beard. Dee might have to trim part of his moustache later, but for now she cleans him up as best she can and hopes he’ll be conscious enough to do it himself in the morning.  
For now she returns the cotton balls and alcohol to her medicine cabinet and gets to work on removing Charlie’s hoodie. If he sleeps in it, he’ll completely soak it in sweat and if Dee doesn’t wash it herself, it won’t ever get washed at all, and Charlie will come into the bar smelling even worse than usual for the next few weeks. She removes his t-shirt as well, for good measure. Dee decides to stay away from his jeans. Too risky.  
Dee throws his shirt and jacket in the washing machine and returns to Charlie. He’s snoring now, but in a way that makes Dee worried for his health. If he keeps going like that, he’s gonna choke on his own vomit or spit or forget to breath or something. Dee doesn’t really know how this sort of thing works but she decides Charlie needs to snap out of it regardless.   
He won’t wake up, which isn’t surprising. Yelling at him is tiring and a few slaps to the face have no effect. Deciding it’s not worth it to bruise him, Dee puts Charlie’s limp arm around her shoulder and hefts him into her bathtub.   
“God, you’re a heavy son of a bitch,” Dee groans as she stares down at the shirtless, half-unconscious man lying limp in front of her. “Come on now, dirtgrub,” She mutters as she turns the shower on. Cold water rains down on him and Dee can see the goosebumps appear on his chest and arms. After a few seconds, he jerks wide awake. He’s silent for a moment, eyes wide open in shock. Then he starts to make noise, screaming insults and exclamations as he fights for control, slipping and sliding in the bathtub. Dee sits on top of the toilet seat cover and waits for him to settle down. Eventually he gets his bearings and manages to turn the water off. He leans back in the tub, exhausted, and shivers, breathing deeply.. Dee doesn’t make a sound, but gets him a towel. He takes a moment to wrap it around himself, still sitting in the bathtub, before he looks up at Dee.  
“What… the hell… was that for?” He says, pausing to take deep breaths. His voice is rough, shaky.  
“You needed to wake the fuck up. I thought you were dying or something.” Dee snaps. Charlie nods along in an attempt to convince Dee he knows what’s going on. He’s obviously disoriented, shuddering in Dee’s bathtub, clutching the bath towel wrapped around his shoulders for dear life. He blinks at her, and Dee’s transfixed for a moment. His skin has gone ghostly white, making his eyes look especially green. They both zone out, exhaustion and absent-mindedness leading to a few minutes of silence, save for a rhythmic dripping from Dee’s showerhead. They’re staring into each other’s eyes.   
Dee can’t imagine what they both look like. They could be zombies: Dee looking haggard with her old nightgown and tired eyes and Charlie looking impossibly strung out, shivering uncontrollably in his dripping wet jeans. Dee is pulled back into reality when she realizes how cold he must be. She rises and holds her hand out to him. He looks small below her,his shoulders hunched. ‘God, he’s got awful posture,’ Dee thinks to herself. Charlie doesn’t react to Dee’s outstretched hand, so she kneels down and rests her elbows on the rim of the bath.  
“Come on Charlie, let’s get out of the tub now,” she says, trying her best to make her voice sound gentle. He looks up at her and smiles a little, barely aware of his surroundings. He’s really not doing well. Dee wonders how much spray paint he could have done. He’s like a small child, obliviously self-destructive and easily tired out.   
“Hi Dee,” He says quietly. “It’s nice to see you.” That makes Dee smile. She grabs onto his wrists and pulls him up. He’s unsteady, and Dee is afraid he’ll slip, but she maneuvers him out of the bathroom and into her bedroom safely. He flops onto her bed and Dee hurries to pull his jeans off before they soak her bedspread. Never has taking a man’s pants off been this un-sexy. She grabs the extra pair of long johns she keeps around the apartment and puts them on him as fast as possible. He’s passed out again, lying on her bed with dreamy smile on his face. A few minutes later they’re lying under the covers together, Charlie lying on his back half-asleep and Dee on her side, watching him.   
This night has happened many times before. Dee remembers the first night she ever had to do this, when Mac and Dennis dropped him off at her house at 4 am. They were too drunk to help him and too self-absorbed to try to. He had fallen asleep on her couch within 15 minutes of arriving and woke her up 45 minutes later screaming.   
Sometimes he would cry for hours, sometimes silently, softly, so that Dee didn’t even know until she woke up the next morning to find his pillow soaked through. Other times the sobs would be so intense that they’d rattle through his body like an electric shock, and leave him with a sore throat in the morning. Sometimes he wouldn’t cry at all, but sit silently, unmoving, for hours, so still that Dee would constantly check his pulse compulsively throughout the night. Then there were the nights where he would become so frantic that he’d pace for hours, talking to himself or somebody else that only he could see, his words becoming so jumbled they weren’t even english. Dee used to hate him for it, for showing up at her doorstep at ungodly hours of the night, for getting so high he couldn’t function, for making her care for him, about him. She used to hate him for terrifying her every time she couldn’t wake him up. These days Dee was just glad that she could watch over him when it got bad. After a few ER visits and more than a few makeout sessions, Dee didn’t mind so much when he would wake her up at 3 in the morning. Sometimes she was happy when it happened. Nights like these were the only time that Charlie ever needed her, the only time they were alone together without the possibility of hurting each other. When Charlie got like this, it meant that he depended on her, and Dee knew that she was the only one that really, truly knew who Charlie was when he was high, the only one who really knew exactly how to take care of him.   
It wasn’t always so bad. Most days he would sleep through the aftershocks on his own and stumble into the bar the next night with only a fuzzy memory of the past day or two. But every couple weeks something bad would happen and they’d end up like this, in bed together in the middle of the night, doing nothing but sleeping and staring at each other.   
By now Dee could tell that the worst was over, that he’d be fine in the morning, trying to tell her about his dreams and messing around in her kitchen. She let herself relax, and she smiled as Charlie turned over to look at her, his eyes bleary.  
“Hey Dee. What happened?” He whispered.   
“What always happens, Charlie. You OD’d on spray paint and now you’re passed out in my bed.” Dee whispered back, pretending to be annoyed.   
“OK, cool. Goodnight Dee. Sweet dreams.” He smiled and Dee couldn’t help but smile back. Dee knew he wouldn’t remember this night at all in the morning.   
“Good night, Charlie.” She said. “I love you,” She reluctantly added after a moment, quieter this time. She didn’t know if he’d heard her, almost didn’t want him to. She closed her eyes and left her mind drift off.   
“I love you too,” Charlie whispered, so quiet Dee barely heard. They both fell asleep with smiles on their faces.


End file.
